


Blockade Day

by llyn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Dark, Humor, M/M, Mind Control, Mitaka Endangerment, Ugly Sweaters, tiddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/llyn
Summary: Hux discovers the extent of Ren's transgressions against him at the first annual Blockade Day party on Starkiller Base.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I got [hexselenas](http://hexselenas.tumblr.com) for Kylux Secret Satan on twitter! I hope you enjoy! Thanks to [Eralk Fang](http://eralkfang.tumblr.com) for the beta <3

1.

Ren looks more dark, stormy, and miserable than usual at the first annual Blockade Day party dressed in what appears against all formal logic to be a handknit Wookiee-fur sweater complete with a metallic bandolier inlay to resemble the villainous Chewbacca.

“Is it real Wookiee, Ren?” Hux asks, switching his tumbler to the other hand to pet the monstrosity. The whole tacky party was Mitaka’s idea but Hux is just tipsy enough to appreciate that this half assed effort at seasonal cheer has at least led to the spectacle of Ren squeezed into a size small, sleeves riding up to his forearms and stretched to their limit.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Ren warns, catching Hux’s hand where it lingers, somewhat appreciative, over a pec. He lifts an eyebrow, “I couldn’t bear it.” 

“Oh, no? So you’re a bit emotionally fragile for the holidays? That’s unexpected.”

“A bit,” Ren mocks his accent with a sneer, then steals Hux’s drink and drains it, leaving the glass on the serving tray of a passing droid.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Hux says, unable to tear his wistful eyes from his glass as it rolls away. The droid weaves between the ice sculptures set around the room, shining with wet, cool, blue light and warping reflections like a carnival house of mirrors. 

Hux supposes he could dig his fangs in deeper to Ren’s seasonal discomfort–it’s just that he’s experiencing a good deal of the feeling himself: alone, so very alone in the galaxy, Starkiller Base the only home he can claim. Perhaps it's why he allowed Mitaka this farce. And why he spent hours selecting his outfit–a green sweater with a great red bow across his chest and little silver bells all over, red shorts and red and white stockings and little green slippers with even more bells. Every Life Day party needs an elf, Mitaka had said, but after comparing his officers’ more subdued ensembles to his own Hux realizes he should’ve asked for Mitaka’s sources on that. 

Ren, too, makes a face as he surveys the room. The two dozen sculptures depict the Imperial blockade of Kashyyyk, with a gently spinning circular fountain of blue-green fizzyglug representing the Wookiee planet itself, softly glowing in the center of the room. “I’m surprised you allow the crew to acknowledge Life Day,” Ren says.  

“Oh, but we reframed it,” Hux says. “My idea. I think we might start teaching this version in the colonies, a kind of...Blockade Day. And it is nice to see the crew so relaxed.”

“Hn.”

“What?”

“They don’t look relaxed,” Ren says, and yes, Hux has to admit that the majority of the Blockade Day revelers are hiding behind a large destroyer on the room’s opposite end, their eyes occasionally peeking up over the turrets to dart between Hux and Ren.

“Well, how about that,” Hux says. “You’re right.”

Ren smiles. He likes being right, Hux knows. They have that in common. “Maybe it would help if we turned around.” Ren says, and has the nerve to catch Hux’s elbow in his big paw, turning them from the scene to face the viewport. At once the party noise behind them seems to grow louder as the crew lets out its breath. Hux can see the reflections of their glittering sweaters as they begin to drift through the room, admiring the sculptures, mingling, draining Kashyyyk of its booze. The holo jizz band strikes up “Light the Sky on Fire,” the lights shift from blue to red, and Phasma’s loud laugh booms out with enough sonic power to send a crack through the sculpture nearest Ren. He waves a hand thoughtlessly, knitting it back together. 

Hux shivers. He’s only recently accepted the fact that he’s a very different, very specific, very  _ intimate _ kind of force-sensitive. There’s no use fighting it. Ren side-eyes him as if he knows. He might. “So why  _ are _ you here, Ren?” Hux says to distract him, just in case. 

“I wanted to see what you were wearing,” Ren says–Ren  _ dares _ to say–his eyes sparkling with playfulness or madness or, most likely, both. “I know how much you love to dress up.” 

Hux’s mouth opens, but he’s suddenly speechless. Another of Ren’s dark powers– though less exciting, Hux tells himself. He belongs to that tasteless rank of predators who paralyze their prey and play with it first.

Ren smiles at his stunned look. It’s not comforting. “So go ahead,” Ren twirls a finger in the air. “Give me a show.” 

Hux shuts his mouth, blinking, and–unwilling to back away from the challenge, however deranged–turns for him. The room is a swirl of faces, sweaters, colors, ice, lights, and stars. The bells of his sweater ringing sweetly, and when he’s facing Ren again he finally finds his voice, “You owe me a drink for that.”

“Very cute, General,” Ren says, ignoring him to reach out a single transgressive finger and jingle a bell by Hux’s collarbone.

“Two drinks,” Hux says, heart pounding.    
  


2.

“So what are you supposed to be?” Ren asks, four drinks later and onto a fifth. They’ve hidden from view on a low bank of sofas facing the viewports. There's room to spare. But for some reason Hux’s leg is pressed against Ren’s and Ren’s arm rests possessive on the sofa behind Hux’s shoulders. The room is warm, too warm. Or maybe that's Hux’s face.

“Drunk?” Hux guesses.

“No, your costume.” 

“Not a costume,” Hux says, plucking at his sweater,  _ ring-ring _ go the bells, “Just an ugly sweater. Mitaka’s idea.” 

“Yeah?” Ren takes Hux’s hand in his– _ transgressive! _ –and slides it over his own stockinged thigh, “Then what are these?”

“Oh, Hux says, “Well.” He's suddenly embarrassed to mention his lead role as the party elf, “I just thought it might help people relax if, you know, I looked ridiculous. Mitaka said–” Hux says, waving a hand toward the Kashyyyk fountain, where he’d last spotted Mitaka staring at them, frozen like a hare, and cuts off his sentence when he finds Mitaka is still there, still staring. 

“You do look ridiculous,” Ren offers, drawing Hux’s attention back to the equally troubling situation on the sofa in which they've become a bit tangled up and the room is too hot. Also troubling is the way Ren says  _ ridiculous _ , low and lovely as if the word has a new meaning. He tilts his head, running his fingers down Hux’s red and white striped thigh. Hux means to move away from the touch, but somehow ends up closer.  

“So do you,” he means to be rude, but his voice is soft as a purr. He clears his throat, tugging on a handful of Wookiee hair, “When was this...thing made for you? Were you five?”

“Yes, I was five,” Ren deadpans, letting Hux trace nonsense patterns through the shag. The fabric’s drawn so tight and thin Hux can see the clear outline of his very well developed pecs, and can feel his peaked nipples, too, as he runs his fingers over them.

“Hux.”

“Hm?” 

“You should stop.”

“Why?” Hux asks, all innocence, “Are they sensitive?” He rubs a nipple through the sweater, letting the ragged threads catch, “What if I pushed you down here?” Hux asks, leaning in to whisper transgressive against Ren’s soft hair, “and licked those big tits while you fucked me?” It’s out of his mouth before his brain catches up, and Ren laughs at him.

“I think your stockings would get in the way,” he says, but his hand drops from the back of Hux’s seat to his ass, squeezing hard enough to pull Hux nearly into his lap. Hux finds himself staring directly into Ren’s eyes for a long minute–it’s something he usually tries his best to avoid. It makes his breath catch. Their lips are so close. The room is too hot. There’s a crash of ice behind them. Everyone gasps. 

“The Blockade!” someone shouts, in horror, and Hux muzzily believes they’re referring to the crumbling of his own impenetrable reputation. Hux blames Ren. 

“You’re making a scene,” Hux pokes his  chest, red with embarrassment. His eyes dart nervous toward the party behind them and back. Mitaka, at least, has disappeared.

Ren, of course, is used to blame and accepts it with an amused grin. “Am I?”

It happens again. The eyes, the breath, the lips. So close. Hux swallows. He knows when he's beat. “We should–um.” 

“Yes,” Ren says, and squeezes Hux’s ass in a nonverbal yes, for good measure. “Meet me over there? Behind the curtain?” 

“The curtain. Fine,” Hux says, and stands a little unsteadily, batting Ren’s hands away when he tries to help. 

He weaves through the party, taking the long way to prevent his crew from figuring out just where he’s going and who he’s going there with. Not that anyone would notice. What Hux assumed were the sounds of shock and awe from the crew at the sight of him flirting was in fact their dismay at Thanisson for knocking directly into a destroyer, toppling it. The fallen sculpture has pinned Thanisson beneath it, and rather than help him free Phasma is on one knee crooning a slow swing version of “Good Night, But Not Goodbye,” as she pets his hair, using a half-spilled glass of fizzyglug as her microphone. Hux leans on her shoulder for balance as he picks his way past the debris, and she salutes him with her free hand and hands him her glass with the other.

“Happy birthday, sir!” she says, over Thanisson’s pleas for help. 

“That’s not...accurate,” Hux says, but takes the drink anyway and solemnly accepts the tinsel crown Unamo sets on his head.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday, sir!” Mitaka says, appearing redfaced at his elbow. Hux jumps. What had started the night as tauntaun facepaint has smeared into a pale and remarkable likeness of the Emperor in his later years. 

“It’s not,” Hux says, but there’s an odd emptiness in Mitaka’s eyes that makes Hux consider him more closely than he would the average drunk, “I would’ve told you when we were planning if it was.”

“Planning what?” Mitaka asks.

“This party?”

“We planned it together, sir?” Mitaka asks, voice bright, “That’s funny. I don’t remember.” 

“It’s–this entire awful party was your idea, lieutenant.” 

Mitaka smiles blankly.

“For Life Day?”

Mitaka shrugs, smile faltering, “I–I really don’t remember.” 

“You don’t?” Hux asks.

“No,” Mitaka’s eyebrows knit together, “But I have been...well I have been sick lately. Um, sleeping a lot. Forgetting things. Losing time, sir. I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“Losing time,” Hux repeats, and the gears begin to turn in his fuzzy head. Right on cue his attention is caught by a shadow slinking in the corner of his eye. Ren disappears like a wraith behind the curtain. The curtain that hides the ice sculpture that Mitaka had excitedly pitched to Hux as the party’s finale. A pitch he doesn’t remember making for a holiday he’s never celebrated in his life. Hux understands all at once the greatest transgression of all that’s taken place tonight. Unfortunately, Mitaka does, too. 

“It’s Ren isn’t it?” Mitaka asks, and what a sad little emperor he makes with those big, wet eyes. “He got in my head.”

“It’s nothing, it’s fine,” Hux says, nails digging into his palms. “Or, I mean, it could be worse. I think he just made you love Life Day.” 

Mitaka makes a high, panicked noise, but Hux is already storming toward the curtain. Behind it, he has only a moment to take in the grandest and most lovely ice sculpture of them all–the Finalizer, a full two meters long, dripping in soft red light–as it waits for its debut, before Ren pins him against the wall with his big, hot hand across his chest. Before Hux can speak, Ren’s lips are like fire against his.

Hux pushes him away, “I figured it out, Ren.” 

“What?”

“Your transgressions! The party?” Hux counts them on his fingers, “Life Day?” he grimaces, “The sweaters? You  _ wanted _ to wear that thing?”

“It’s tight,” Ren says, tugging the seam down where it’s crept above his navel, “I thought you’d like it.” 

“The elf?” Hux voice cracks, and Ren snickers. “You should be ashamed.” 

“Why?” Ren asks, smiling as if they share some joke. His hands rove up under Hux’s sweater, tickling his sides. 

Hux squirms away, only to be caught and pinned again. “Because–” narrowly dodging another kiss, “Because,  _ Ren _ , you went and meddled with Mitaka’s mind–”   


“Yes?” 

“To what? Get me drunk?”

Ren shrugs. 

“That's horrible.” 

That predator's smile again, “I think you’re flattered.” 

Hux lifts his chin, “Maybe so, but it's still bad form, Ren.”

Ren’s smile this time isn't that of a cat with a mouse but more like a cadet at the Sweetheart's Ball. His cheeks are pink. He  _ like _ -likes Hux. He wants to buy him a flower and keep him out past curfew. It's all right there on his face. Then he speaks, “You should punish me.”

“I plan on it,” Hux says.

  
3.

Hux bunches Ren’s sweater up above his nipples and leans down to suck, nails digging into Ren’s twisting waist to hold him still. Ren jerks beneath his mouth, his tits are so sensitive, he's so responsive and wriggly that Hux groans, palming the one he isn’t torturing in his hand, thumb slipping back and forth over the nipple. “So tender,” he teases, pushing Ren’s tits together to drag his tongue between them. “Such a whore for it, who knew?” 

Ren moans, hand fisted in Hux’s hair. He pushes Hux away long enough to strip his green sweater off, flinging his tinsel crown, too, and grabbing his ass to bring him close again after. Hux feels so small within his arms–if Ren squeezed him hard enough he might just disappear. 

Ren hums between kisses, pressing a leg between Hux’s thighs. “So eager,” he slips his hands under the seam of his shorts and tights to squeeze him tighter. “So soft and eager,” Ren says, then, “Pretty eyes,” in smirking response to Hux’s glare. 

“Shut up,” Hux says. Struck suddenly with inspiration he pushes Ren away just long enough to reach out and snap a ventral cannon from the Finalizer. He shoves Ren back against the wall and runs the ice over Ren’s nipple.

“Kriff,” Ren is all wide eyes, “Ah, fuck,” and lets his head hit the wall, eyes squeezed tight against the freeze. 

Hux watches his face, finding the very worst spot, the spot just under the meat of his pecs that makes Ren shake, makes his eyes roll back, and writes his name there with the ice, taking his time– _ General Armitage Hux _ . “Now you’re punished,” Hux says, and finds himself suddenly shoved face-first against the wall and stripped of his shorts and stockings. For a long moment, nothing, then Ren’s fingers press slick against his asshole. He feels his face turn red–Ren was so sure of victory against the Blockade that he’d brought lube. 

His finger slips inside Hux, insistent–wasting no time as he prodes against him, making Hux gasp.

“Shh,” Ren says, lips hot against his ear, “you don’t want to get caught.”  _ No _ , Hux savors the delicious thought,  _ I don't _ . Though there's little risk of that–the band is loud and the party outside at peak hilarity as the oversized ice sculptures begin to–judging from the happy shouts–crack and melt and make a big, slippery mess, Kashyyyk by now drained of its fizzyglug reservoirs.

“I hate you,” Hux says, even as he pushes back against Ren’s fingers, impatient, “I hate that I threw you a party.” 

“Poor Hux,” Ren says, giving him a second finger. “But it worked. This’s all I wanted,” he hisses, “your skinny thighs spread for me.”  

“Every time I look at you I think–t-think,  _ yes _ .”

“Yes? 

“No.”

“No?”

“I think,” Hux tries again, but Ren pushes three fingers in, and Hux loses control of his thoughts, rutting back against him. “F-fucking filthy whore mouth with that mark like a bit of chocolate I want to lick off, don't stop though.”

Ren stops, “Go ahead then, fuck yourself.” 

Hux balls his fists against the wall and fucks himself on Ren’s fingers, hoping to give him the show he wants. From the way Ren can’t seem to choose between grabbing his ass with his free hand or spanking it, Hux thinks he’s done well.

“Do you know what I think when I look at you?” Ren asks, pulling out and twisting Hux around to face him, “Take your stupid stockings off–I think, Hux is  _ desperate _ to get fucked.” 

Hux glares up at him, hopping out of one leg of his stockings.

“And I’m the only one who can do it,” Ren says, slicking up his cock, and lifting Hux up easily, humiliating how easy, by his ass to press him back against the wall. Hux yelps and wraps his legs around Ren’s waist, his stockings still clinging slippery to one of his calves, draping gauzy all the way to the floor. Ren’s cock is huge inside him and Hux tries to take it all, to relax down even as the stretch pricks tears in his eyes. 

“Ah, fuck,” he tries to get control of himself before he cries with relief in front of Ren, “R-Ren–is that all?”

Ren thrusts. Hux’s vision goes white. It becomes clear right away that Hux doesn’t have to hold on, Ren can bounce him on his dick without the wall, he’s sure of it. He slides a hand from around Ren’s shoulders to grab his tit, chapped red from the ice, and feel it bounce along with him. 

“I think you want to get caught,” Ren says. “You want them to see how weak you are for cock.” 

Hux whines, tipping his head back, “Ren, use it on me.” 

“Use what?” 

“Use the force on me,” he begs, having left his dignity far behind tonight, as soon as he shimmied into those stockings. Ren looks confused for a moment – maybe he  _ didn’t _ know about Hux’s particular sensitivity to the force, Hux thinks – then he can’t think at all, as Ren closes his eyes and lights Hux up with it, lights him up with strange electric pleasure until his hair stands on end and his toes curl, coming with a sound he’s never heard himself make. Ren follows, gasping for air. 

He lets Hux down, but Hux won't let go–clinging to him, hands curled on his chest by Ren’s red, tortured nipples. 

Ren looks down at him, expression so soft, and Hux can imagine the sight. He’s shivering, teeth chattering, face bright red, eyelashes stuck with tears. Ren takes his chin in his slippery hand and tilts it up, “Hux, I–”

“Revenge!” Mitaka shouts, and the curtain opens. 

  
  



End file.
